


The Funeral

by carvedwhalebones (fuckyeahlucifersupernatural)



Category: Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: Alternative Universe - Better Ending, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Wendigo!Josh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-20 08:21:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4780403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckyeahlucifersupernatural/pseuds/carvedwhalebones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh emerges from the nightmare of the mines, but he doesn't leave the mines alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Thing

**Author's Note:**

> **Tumblr URL:** carvedwhalebones.tumblr.com  
>  _Special thanks goes to wehdile.tumblr.com for helping me hash out this story._

Josh Washington is starving. 

By the third day, food is all he can think of. He thinks of thick, juicy burgers and fries dunked in ranch. It doesn’t help that, at times, he can actually smell food. Josh swears that he can catch the telltale scent of cooked meat — cooked _something_ — wafting through the cold caverns. However, the air is still pungent with the scent of the dead and twists the illusionary scent, throwing something heinous back at his senses when he tries to seek it out. 

  He threw up the first time it occurred. Something pleasant turned rancid so abruptly left saliva building in the back of his mouth, the premonition of vomit. The chips he scarfed down before his big reveal still lay in a puddle somewhere behind him. His mouth is full of the acrid taste of bile, a taste he still can’t get rid of, the back of his throat remaining lukewarm. It’s a momentary blessing, for it managed to spoil his appetite. Now, he just heaves up spit, his stomach painfully empty and reminding him of so.

Josh risked drinking from the water and it does nothing but make his stomach nauseously toss about. Sam tried to tell him what happened with Hannah and Beth. Mike cut her off, however, urging them to move on, but her words continue to haunt him. Something happened down here to his sisters. Josh recognized the tattoo on the thing that grabbed him. He remembers sighing in disbelief as Hannah showed off the tattoo, the two of them upset at the other when it was revealed it’s meant to impress Mike.

 _Shit_ , there _was_ something that weird guy on the mountain was raving about years back to his parents. He can’t remember, but he’s sure what the guy warned him about was the thing that brought him here. Josh sighs, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palms. The thing had Hannah’s tattoo. _Why_ did it have Hannah’s tattoo? Was it just another hallucination? A trick of the eye?

“Mad props to the pops if it’s some costume,” he calls out with a grin, but his chest aches and his stomach is tight with pain. His grin quickly wilts; God, he’s terrified.

Josh tried shouting and yelling for help. He knows Blackwater’s grounds, but the mines escape him. He’s betting on the others remembering where they found him and seeking him out, but it’s been three days and they thought none too kindly of him after his prank. 

_You’ve been abandoned. Admit it,_ a voice filters through, words slicked with grease. Josh can catch the edge of a desk in his peripherals, the merlot armchair rising proudly over it. Whenever Josh moves to get a better look, the image fades.

He tried following the path Sam took, but he was never any good at rock climbing and ended up scratching up one of his knees. He sits at the base of the wall, hissing at the sharp pain. Josh licks the blood off of his fingers when he examines the injured knee, his mishap having torn through the denim of his pants. He knows it’s strange, but heat blooms in his gut when it hit his tastebuds. It’s more than good — _it’s divine._ A hideous burst of relief floods his system as he sucks the red off of his finger, choking in surprise. He repeats the action again and again, feeding off of that sensation. Josh pushes through the pain as he pinches his skin, urging more blood out. He endures the flashes of pain as he picks and prods at the wound for the rest of that day, licking at his fingers, seduced into a strange trance that’s red and hot. 

Josh is only jerked out of his bloodlust haze when he hears a strange sound bouncing off the walls. How his heart stops, rising to his feet with haste. Josh screams out for help, but no one answers. He stops screaming when his voice begins to crack and his vision blur.

*****

On the fifth day, he finally musters the strength to approach the strange man’s corpse. Or at least he assumes is the fifth day. He has been poorly keeping track of time, using the opening in the ceiling of the cavern as reference. He’s nervous about leaving his only source of real light.  

Josh makes his way to the corpse, body suspended like butchered meat. There is still a pool of blood, having yet to dry up. He eyes it nervously before eyeing the decapitated body. He knows he should feel sick at the sight, but he doesn’t. There is that strange, warm feeling blossoming, again, the longer he examines the corpse. Josh hates the way he has to pull himself away, stumbling in the dark and seething at himself in disgust. He hits his forehead with the heel of his palm a few times, _“Stop fucking around. Stop fucking around.”_

*****

The sixth day he’s chewing on his own clothes. Doesn’t eat it, but he’s chewing on it and pretending it’s food. He continues to drink the water and it’s hardly forgiving on his system. He eyes his own knee, now scabbed over, with a mixture of disgust and ugly intrigue. Josh isn’t sure gnawing and sucking on the collar of his shirt is doing any good, but he realizes he’s stuck. Fatigue has settled in and he’s exhausted. Moving too much causes his head to spin and he ignores his hunger by sleeping. There is no way out. He has walked in circles, groping at the walls and crying for aid. As the days pass, the darkness and gloom about him grows heavier. The caverns consist of either complete silence or his panicked breathing, the awful unknown and the fact that he may truly die here suffocating. There is no way out.   

_Where are the others? Where is the help?_

*****

On the seventh day, he tastes blood, again. 

  No matter how far he travels in the mines, he keeps on finding himself back where he started. The air smells less of rot and more like temptation. The realization sickens him, a disgusted sound lost in the back of his throat, but his hunger drives the conversation in his skull. He’s starving. He _needs_ food and he can either decide to hold out a bit longer or die of starvation. 

Josh spends half of the day just eyeing the body, clicking his teeth together behind closed lips. 

The pool of blood is still there. He doesn’t need to see it to know it’s there. Josh debates in circles and ferociously digs his fingers into his scalp. Everything is wrong. This was never meant to happen. They were supposed to have one huge laugh and he’s supposed to get over the loss of his sisters. Dr. Hill’s text message burns into his skull: _‘I don’t think your plan is going to help.’_ It was supposed to help. It all was supposed to help, but then Jessica got hurt — it wasn’t his fault! Why can’t anyone see that?   

Josh takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “You’re okay. You’re okay. It’s okay,” he hisses at himself until his body begins to relax. He still feels rigid and wrong, but this will have to do. His hunger takes precedent, once more, and he gathers the courage to reach out to puddle of blood. The cold, wet atmosphere has managed to keep it from drying up. Even in the gloom he finds it with remarkable accuracy, his fingers wet. He already foresees it to taste awful, but the minute he licks at his fingers is heat seeping into his chilled bones. There is that familiar wonder. 

  Josh is enthralled by the blood, wedded to his hot desire for more. He scrambles on all four closer to it, breathing it in and it doesn’t quite smell of decay. He dips his hand the small pool of blood and licks his fingers clean. He continues the process until he’s trying to wedge his fingers into the grooves of the rocky floor for leftovers. 

Josh turns his head to the hanging corpse and whatever reservations he held are not present, at the moment. 

  It takes a few jumps until he’s able to grab at a limb and yank the body down. It comes down easily and he’s feverishly trying to undo the coat on the stranger’s body. There is a part of him trying to find utility and justification for his actions. He needs the jacket to keep himself warm. So he takes it and slips it on. He needs to find a way to stop feeling hungry and the blood still sitting on his tongue is thick and rich. It keeps the reality of his actions at bay, altogether shushed by this red thrum — this siren song.

It takes minutes for his teeth to cut through flesh, helped by the already decapitated state of the body. There is only silence, save for the greedy slurp and chew of innards and skin. His eyes feel wet and there is a sensation of overwhelming relief when fat and muscle travel down his gullet. As his teeth and fingers are picking and pulling, his thoughts are quiet, muffled by that steady thrum of _eat, eat, eat, eat, eat_. It’s only when his fingers meet resistance during an attempt to peel back flesh is he shaken out of this lull. 

“F-F-Fuck,” comes spilling out, jerkily pulling himself away, scrambling backwards. He can see the mess he has created, the poor lighting catching the congealed blood and exposed muscles, almost making it shine. “Oh….no….no, no, no,” he is heaving in dismay, moving his hands to cradle his face, but they reek of blood and are wet. Josh drops his hands as if he’s been stung and gives an awful wail, mortified.   He hastily tries to wipe his hands off of his newly acquired jacket. "What are you doing?" he hisses, already moving his fingers into his mouth, as if to urge himself to puke what he just took in. Josh's actions are aborted when something moves amongst the chaos.

In the tangle of limbs, a familiar face emerges, crawling out of the stump that once held a neck. It’s one of the pig’s heads he grabbed for his prank, taking root on the stranger’s corpse. Dim-eyed and grinning slightly, it watches him with amusement. _‘Disgusting little creatures,’_ it comments, it’s eyes rolling in its sockets. _’Soon all of you will — ”_ it pauses in speech, a whistling sound emitting from his motionless mouth leaving it, ending on a sickening crack, _“— suffer as I have suffered.’_ ***** The words are familiar, but he can’t place them or dwell on it at this moment. 

  “You’re….” he pauses to swallow thickly, willing his voice to sound steadier, “not real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.” He closes his eyes and wills the image to disappear, but there is an after-image of the pig’s head showing itself on the backdrop of his eyelids. The pig continues to grin at him, dirt and blood staining its teeth. Josh gives up and looks once more; the glassy eyes, the discoloration of its pink skin as it turns dark with rot, the inviting aroma — Josh and the pig’s head stare at the other, Josh held in place by a rancid realization.  

 The pig’s head laughs, a low sound that shakes his bones and a sob out of Josh. Josh runs away from the visage before him, tripping and stumbling deeper into the caverns. He doesn’t end up far, his calves beginning to smart, the laughter, fortunately, having subsided. Only his wheezing can be heard, ever so often interrupted by spasms of grief. He refuses to admit that he finally feels full.   

*****

On the ninth day, his teeth and jaw hurt. It feels sharp like nerve pain. Even the lull of a meal, hunger striking him, again, is unable to hold him for long. His mouth hurts as he works the tough muscles of the stranger. Josh keeps on fading in and out of reality as he picks at the corpse with his teeth. His humiliation and disgust over his actions, coupled with his tooth pain, win over his fear. Josh sleeps hungry and upset.   

Josh isn’t sure how long he has been trapped. He still drinks the water nearby and it, surprisingly, no longer leaves his stomach cramping. He lost count of the days he's been trapped when he started to feed on the stranger. He guesses he lost track of two days, at most. His teeth still hurt, but his jaw aches less. Josh isn’t sure if it’s the fact that the stranger is no longer worth gnawing on or that he desperately wishes to be far away from the corpse that has him venturing further into the mines. Numerous of the pathways remain blocked, but he finds a spot where he can slip through that he didn’t see before. It sets him in high spirits when it's discovered, walking with a little more purpose. 

  It takes a few hours of wandering around aimlessly until he sees light fanning across a tunnel to his right. Josh squints at the light and rushes towards it, his heart pounding in his chest at the possibility of escape. Josh is liberated, for the moment, of his grief. Relief swells in his chest and he chases after the light, something akin to laughter leaving his mouth when he sees that there is an exit. He races towards it, whooping with joy as light greets him, fist pumping in the air.

Josh's shouts are halted when his eyes are greeted, fully, by the sun. The sunlight sears his retinas, swearing in surprise. He closes his eyes, immediately, shades of purples and blues blistering across a backdrop of black. His mood remains optimistic, enjoying the fresh air and the warmth of the sun. It takes around fifteen minutes for him to open his eyes with relative comfort. There is something amiss with his left eye, a strange film settling over it and muting the colors of the world. It smarts when he turns it closer to the sun. Josh rubs at the eye, but the muted view remains. 

Josh stays like this, taking in the world around him. His actions cling onto his back like parasites, present and toxic. He can’t just forget what he did back in the mines and — “Jesus,” comes whooshing out in one breath, rubbing at his forehead. He doesn’t want to think about it, shaking his head and trying to dig the heel of one of his palms deeper into his skin. The less he wishes to think about it, the more it pushes itself forward. 

_Josh._

  Josh groans in dismay. He doesn’t have the energy to do this again. “Leave me alone!” He shouts out in warning, sitting down on the cold floor, feeling snow soak into clothes. He doesn't want to think about the mines. Not now. 

_Josh._

 He moves his hands towards his eyes, hoping that will get rid of whatever thought that is attempting to harass him. “Go away,” he snarls, upset and perplexed. His name keeps on being repeated and finally, it’s right before him, loud and distinguishable.  

  ** _“Josh!”_**   

It’s Sam’s voice! Immediately, Josh looks up, staring in astonishment at the blond-haired girl. She’s dressed in her hiking gear, her pink backpack sitting on her shoulders. He misses the way she stares at him in shock and something else, her lips turning downward. “Sam,” he croaks out in excitement, his mouth twisting into a smile, but something burns at the attempt. The skin around his mouth feels tight, threatening to tear if he smiles any wider. Sam shakes her head and gives him a big smile, rushing towards him and pulling him into a tight embrace.   

Josh is trying to find purchase on her, his fingers fisting into her back pack, another into her jacket. His cheeks feel wet and his shoulders are shaking. Sam, eventually, sinks onto her knees so they’re at a reasonable height. “I’m so glad you’re alive. I’ve been looking for you for three weeks! We all have,” she’s telling him somewhere near his neck. Three weeks? His mind is whirling, astonished at the time that has gone by. How is that possible!? There is no way he’s been down in the mines for more than a week. Josh makes an unsure sound behind a clenched jaw.  

Sam pulls away after a moment, her own face wet and streaked with tears. Josh watches her wipe at her eyes, his smile returning on his lips. Josh feels something tear and winces. He catches the way Sam can’t quite meet his gaze, adverting her eyes elsewhere. Something about it makes him anxious.   

“‘Oh my dear God, are you one of those single tear people?’” ***** he quotes, his smile blooming into a grin when Sam shoots him with a dark look. His mouth feels wrong and something must have torn near the corner of his lips, but he doesn't bother to touch it. His hands are still somewhere near Sam, near something that makes sense and is real. _Ah, there!_ Her eyes are meeting his. Good. Josh is laughing, the sound wrong and strange out of his mouth, but it feels so good to laugh.

“ _Really_ , Josh? Right now? You’re going to do this right now?” she huffs, but she starts laughing, too. She shoves at his shoulder before offering her hand, coaxing him back to the lodge. Josh almost forgets his own hunger until he catches the drumbeat of her pulse against his fingers...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_
> 
> ***Move Quotes Quoted In Chapter:**
> 
>  
> 
>  _“Disgusting little creatures. Soon all of you will […] suffer as I have suffered.”_ **\- Princess Mononoke (1997)**
> 
> _“Oh my dear god, are you one of those single tear people.”_ **\- Whiplash (2014)**


	2. Hands of the Ripper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first night back is never easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Huge thanks, again, to wehdile for being such a great inspiration and help!_
> 
> **My Tumblr URL:** carvedwhalebones.tumblr.com 

_“Because I was drunk and passed out.”_

  It’s the answer to the question as to why he wasn’t watching his sisters. Josh recalls, vividly, the disappointment settling on his parents’ faces. The way they looked away at him, unable to meet his gaze. That is where he found himself caught — still is, today — in this great divide, conflicted over how he should act. There Josh has found himself alternating between apologetic excuses for his behavior, meant to appease family and friends, and wishing he could share his innermost thoughts and darkest fears, which he doesn’t disclose in an attempt to appear normal. 

It’s an impossible task, always cracking around the edges and doing his best to carry on with his life. He hardly made it through two weeks of the new semester before dropping out, relieved he no longer had to put on an act for his classmates and professors. Josh can’t quite describe it fully, but there is something appealing about resignation. Something alluring about leaving it all behind.

  Sam, however, has always been one of his ‘ups’ throughout the year following his sisters’ disappearance. While Chris will always be his best friend, he has never been able to express how he truly feels. Not in depth, at least. Chris has always had a misunderstanding of depression even before his sisters’ disappearance and he’s always been too exhausted to explain it to him. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Chris, it’s just that he can’t bear to be told to simply ‘get out of bed and do something to take your mind off of it.’  

Sam is different. She has always been a bit quirky, standing out from the rest. From the minute his sisters introduced her to him, he has always wanted to impress her. Crumpling before the girl you may or may not have the hots for is not exactly Josh’s definition of ‘impressive,’ but there is something about her that tells him that it’s okay. It’s safe. Josh took a risk, a terrifying leap of faith, and allowed himself to unravel before her after the events that took place on the mountain. Sam responded by holding him close and keeping him there, a gentle listener. Josh won’t ever forget that and he won’t forget this, either. Dr. Hill called it progress when he shared it during one of their sessions. Josh couldn't help but agree. It felt good. It felt like progress. 

The hike back to the lodge is quiet and Josh follows Sam’s lead. He pulled his hand too fast out of Sam’s when she helped him up. There is no commentary on Sam’s face in response and he’s relieved, trying to ignore his desire to ruminate over the fact he could _feel_ and _hear_ her pulse. That’s not normal. Josh snorts into the chilled air at his own thoughts, a bemused look twitching on his lips. “Right,” he mutters under his breath, Sam glancing behind her in question. 

“Uh…I was saying that uh…” he clears his throat, his brows pinching in thought, “just hoping the others are alright.” 

Sam gives a nod, flashing him a reassuring smile. He still can’t get over how wonderful it is to just look at Sam’s face — to just see someone. 

“Yeah! A few scrapes and bruises, but we’re all whole and good,” she comments, before making an unsure sound in her throat. Josh feels his gut twist. What does that mean? “Well, okay…not exactly,” she adds and Josh moves closer to her so they’re walking side-by-side, confused and intrigued. Sam looks genuinely conflicted, shooting him an anxious look. Josh doesn’t know what to make out of it. 

“Apparently Mike went and followed this stranger all the way to the sanatorium. Inside of it he saw some sort of device that was waving this severed hand about. Long story short, he touched it. It was actually a bear trap and it caught the tip of his fingers. So Mike lost the tip of his fingers. Two, I think,” Sam whooshes out, eyeing Josh for his reaction. Josh has to take pause, befuddled that there was even access to the sanitarium let alone the set to Saw II nestled within. He’s not sure why Mike would touch a severed hand, a bit perplexed. Josh tries to keep his thoughts away from the stranger, but the scent of decay begins to waft from the jacket sitting heavy on his shoulders. His face burns with shame and he wants to rip the jacket off, but he doesn’t want Sam to notice. 

“So you’re telling me that Mike was in quite the pinch?” Josh returns, earning her elbow knocking into his, the older male laughing. Sam’s doing her best to look unamused, but her mouth is traitorously twisting into a grin. 

“That was a little good,” she admits and Josh can’t stop grinning, pleased with himself. Despite Mike’s injury, he’s relieved. He’s relieved they’re safe and at home. He’s relieved that Sam went out and searched for him. He’s relieved that she’s talking to him like this. She makes everything feel so natural and easy.

“I knew you wouldn’t give up on me, Sammy,” he breaks the silence when it begins to settle around them, moving back to walking behind her, following her lead. 

Sam is spinning on her heels in the snow abruptly, turning to face him, the two nearly knocking into the other. Her brows are pinched together, but her features wince sympathetically when her eyes falter down past his nose. Sam hides it with the shake of the head. “None of us are about to give up on you, Josh,” she assures with confidence. Josh looks unconvinced. Selfishly he wonders where are the others, then. Why is it that only Sam is here? Why did they leave him all alone in the shed? An old fear that festered in those mines resurfaces, reminding him that he has been abandoned and it’s due to his own machinations. 

_You fucked it up._

Sam must have caught his train of thought because her hand is finding his, incredibly warm fingers fumbling for his. Josh is pulled out of his cyclical thoughts, but the muscles and tendons in his jaw feel wound up too tight. “Hey. Listen, the reason I’m the one out here is… It’s a little complicated. Everyone’s a little…occupied for the moment,” she struggles to explain. It’s not the whole truth, just a kernel of it and they both know it. She doesn’t know how much more she can share or maybe she doesn’t know where to start. 

Josh finds himself lending her a hand, not allowing her to struggle for an answer and deciding he won't fight her on the matter. It makes him a bit queasy at the possible implications. “Because a little mountain isn’t going to scare you?” he supplies helpfully.

“Damn straight!” Sam whoops out, giving him a bright smile. Sam squeezes his hand in appreciation and Josh can’t help but return the smile. Her smiles were always contagious. Their hands slip from the other and Josh follows the trail left by the smiles she’d shoot over her shoulder all the way back to the lodge.

*****   

Josh is shocked when he finds the lodge charred. Police tape fluters and drags against the snow, tied to a nearby tree. It appears some work has been done, the majority of the blown out windows either boarded up or bearing a window tarp. Sam starts discussing how something called wendigos were about, how a gas pipe was exposed, and how she, essentially, set the lodge on fire to destroy these wendigos. His confusion must have been apparent because Sam is apologizing, promising she’ll explain everything in detail once he’s fed and cleaned up. 

  Wendigos? Was that the thing that grabbed him in the water? The thing with Hannah’s tattoo? Josh isn’t quite sure and his mind is racing a mile a minute, eagerly wanting to make sense of it all. In the end, it leaves him irritated and exhausted, walking into the lodge with a grimace.   

There is the faint smell of smoke that has settled down in the room and it appears that all of the furniture in the room have been removed. The walls have been stripped, bearing some sort of white paint all about. Sam is explaining the fire and the extent of the damage, but he’s half paying attention. His parents must have paid a fortune for someone to clean the place up. To get a crew to come to the mountain and do this level of work is hardly cheap. Josh is surprised, however, that they’ve done this level of work so soon.  

“Why would my parents try to fix this up so soon?” he voices out, eyeing the rafters.   He assumed his parents would be focusing on searching the grounds, not fixing up the lodge. The thought makes his throat tight.

“For you, Josh. If you ever…found your way back, at least you’d be able to stay somewhere that is habitable before help came along. Guest cabin has been fixed up, too,” she answers before finishing where she left off, saying something in regards to rescue teams and leads. Josh is left a little stunned, in awe over his own parents. He wonders if Sam had any role to play? Was it her who begged them to not give up hope and do whatever they can to lend a hand? He wonders if it was her who encouraged them to focus on repairing the lodge to the best of their ability. From the way she’s explaining every minuet detail and gesticulating about, he has a hunch that she had some large role in the process. The thought and the work his parents have put in pulls a watery smile out of him, momentarily caught off guard and overwhelmed by the gesture. He should say something to Sam — to thank her or point out that he knows it had to be her doing.   

“Hold on, Sam . Hold on. Didn’t you tell me down in the basement how unfortunate it’d be if this place caught on fire?” he finds himself slinging out, cutting right through her speech. It’s all he can manage to say, giving Sam a rueful smile. Sam’s cheeks begin to pick up color. “And you were the one who, pretty much, lit this place up? You sure you’re not just trying to cover your own ass by helping out?” From the way her face falters just so, before she quickly composes herself, he knows he hit a tender spot. Josh rubs at his forehead, disappointed at himself.   Sam just smiles and shakes her head. 

“Oh, and they brought up some food. Mostly dry goods and stuff. So did the others. I think Chris sent over a lifetime supply of beef jerky,” she starts up, again, motioning for him to follow her into the kitchen. 

Josh nearly wept when he spotted the stacks of his favorite Gatorade. He’s suddenly aware that he’s parched and hungry, gulping down one of the Gatorades with reckless abandon. “How anyone can like Fruit Punch Gatorade is beyond me,” Sam comments from across the kitchen, fixing him up a sandwich, her back turned towards him. Apparently eating beef jerky does not constitute as a meal.

“Nectar of the gods, Sammy,” he returns absentmindedly, staring at his hands for the first time outside of the mines. He must have bruised his hands up because splotches of purple and red are stagnate underneath his nails and on his knuckles. His nails are, also, a bit long, caught off guard by their length. Josh sets aside the empty bottle to pick at them, brows furrowed and hunched over to get a better look. Is this what three weeks will do to you? Josh makes a face and tries to tear at one of his nails. 

_Shit._

 Josh winces when he manages to cut the pad of his thumb during one of his attempts to tear at his nail. He’s more shocked than disturbed that he managed to cut himself, watching a fat droplet of blood push out of his thumb. _How is this even possible?_ His nose must be somehow more sensitive after his time in the mines, because the scent of blood fills his nostrils instantaneously — _ah, there_. He can hear it, his own pulse. He can hear it thumping in his ears. There, in the background, there is Sam’s. Quiet, but present. Josh listens to his before he tries to focus and pull out the sound of Sam's, curiosity and something else gripping him tight. Josh watches Sam turn to face him and walk towards him, plate in hand. It’s louder now, smothering and eradicating the sound of his own pulse with each step closer. Josh catches the scent of her laundry detergent, nostrils flaring. 

Their eyes meet and he sucks in the air violently, curling his hands in his lap and forcing himself to smile. He's shaken out of his stupor, feeling a bit off-kilter in his own body. Sam is shooting him a queer look, but her smile is open and sincere. Josh thanks her and focuses on the sandwich, willing himself to fixate on it. He eats what he can, but it tastes a little off in his mouth. 

*****

Josh insists Sam tell him more about what happened and what exactly these wendigos are. The extent of his knowledge on wendigos is stuck somewhere between what he's seen on the big screen, brief fucking around on the Internet, and whatever was in those _"Scary Stories To Tell in the Dark"_ series he read as a kid. However, Sam is stubborn, arguing that cleaning his cuts and himself is a priority. Her constant refusal leaves him antsy, his hands feeling restless and his neck wet with sweat. He hates _not_ knowing what is going on — why Mike thought he hurt Jessica or the thing that picked him out of the water. Josh plays with the idea of continuing to argue with her until her resolve wavers, but Sam appears resolute and Josh remembers what is still sitting on his shoulders. He’s still wearing a dead man’s coat and he thinks of what still remains stuck and wedged in his back molars. God, it’s been three weeks since he brushed his teeth.

  Josh gives in, to Sam’s relief, and he’s led to the bathroom. The bathroom remained unscathed from the fire, it appeared. Josh wishes he listened a bit more to Sam’s explanation of the extent of the fire. Maybe it was just superficial burns? 

He shrugs out of the coat and kicks it near the door, relieved when it’s off his shoulders. Sam is busy starting a bath and Josh is left picking at a few loose threads on his overalls. He lets his eyes wander to pass the time, spying a few oddities in the bathroom. There are a few items littered about he doesn’t recognize: a packet of hair ties, pink toothbrush, and a first aid kit with a sticker of a dog on it. That causes Josh to snort, lips twitching into a smile. How long has Sam been here? Did his parents give her the key to the cable car? He wished he chose to listen to her an hour or so ago. Josh doesn’t know why he just can’t ask her now. 

  “Okay….let’s…” Sam turns away from the bath, eyeing her surroundings and sorting her thoughts, “why don’t you sit on the edge of the tub. Let’s just try to clean up a few cuts, first.”

“I feel like the wiser course of action is to just hose me down,” he quips in an attempt to lighten up his own mood, because he’s taking himself in and it makes him nervous. He sees the lacerations on his arms when he rolls his sleeves up and he reeks of the dead. How Sam is able to even stay close to him, let alone hug him when she first found him without complaint, is nothing short of miraculous. 

Sam chuckles, grabbing the first aid kit and a wet washcloth, coaxing Josh to sit. “I don’t remember seeing a hose lying about, but I thought about it,” she replies with a smile, setting the kit down next to Josh. “Just stay still, okay?” The washcloth is warm and she’s gently dabbing at his right cheek. There is her pulse again, beating rapidly in his ears, but she remains poised. Josh is torn between focusing on Sam or how sensitive and raw his face feels.   

Josh makes a disgruntled sound when she moves to his left cheek. She glides the cloth upward at a strange angle, but the edge of the cloth is tickling the corner of his mouth, making him fidget.   

“Sorry,” she rushes out, but Josh shakes his head in a sign that she can continue.   Something feels strange. Sam repeats the action and he struggles to figure out what the hell the cloth is agitating. It feels like the corner of his mouth and his mind fumbles. That’s not correct. The cloth is higher up his cheek. He can feel it right now on his temple, but his mind is informing him that the end of the cloth is still brushing against his mouth. Josh can’t make sense of it. He opts for furrowing his brows and bouncing one of his knees, jaw clenched. He matches the tempo of Sam’s heartbeat and it doesn’t seem to quell his agitation. 

“This might hurt a bit. There is just…looks like a lot of pus crusted around your right eye. Do you want to take a break for a bit?” Sam asks and Josh shakes his head for her to go ahead. He wants this part to be over with as quickly as possible, holding onto the edge of the tub. 

  Sam cleans the rag in the sink before going to his right eye, watching her bring the cloth to the underside of the eye. He blinks, or at least, he tries to. His right eye closes with ease, but not his left. Pinpricks of pain race through his nerves and he hisses in confusion. How is he noticing it now? How has he been blinking before? It doesn't make any sense. Josh can taste his panic, metallic and foul, in the back of his mouth.   

“Sam, what the hell is going on?!” he manages to spit out in a terrified whisper. 

  Sam just swallows and takes a deep breath, her jaw tight with tension. It takes her a while to respond, clearing her throat. “Josh, after we’re done cleaning you up, I’ll explain everything. You just need to have a few things taken care of first,” she issues out steadily, but Josh is shaking his head, rising to his feet. Sam stumbles back and he swears that she almost cowers in front of him at the abrupt gesture. That disturbs Josh, caught in a dangerous mixture of fight- _and_ -flight.

“No,” he shakily asserts out, “I need to know — ”

“Josh,” she cuts in, her voice soothing, but she’s carefully easing herself further away from him, creating distance. 

“ _No_ ,” he heaves out, louder now. “I deserve to know what the fuck is going on! Right now, Sam! I need to know,” he shouts out, voice shaking and _fuck_ the corner of his mouth hurts, as if he opened it too wide. He raises a hand to touch it, surprised when his fingers bump into teeth, not skin or lips. Josh moves to the bathroom mirror, feeling feverish as he stares at himself for the first time. 

Josh can catch the discrepancies with his vision with greater clarity. Everything towards his right is faintly blurred, but he doesn’t dare to lean closer to the mirror for a better look. His face is coated in dirt and dried blood, a few cuts on his forehead and right cheek apparent. His nose looks broken and he can’t bear to look any more at his face, his shoulders shaking at the image of his torn open cheek and mouth. Whatever was once cheek has been ripped asunder, jagged teeth crooked and barred in its place. It looks like a sloppy, half-formed Glasgow smile, the torn flesh already starting to show signs of infection.  

 Josh can feel his chin trembling, a whine cracking through. Already he feels a bit lightheaded, his body dangerously leaning to one side, catching himself before he could fall. His fingers are shaking when he, finally, rises to touch his mouth, mortified as he realizes part of his upper lip is completely gone. A broken cry leaves him, pulling his gaze away from the mirror, digging his fingers into his scalp.   “No, no, no, no, this can’t be happening,” he’s whining, trying to hunch over, make himself smaller. This doesn't make any sense. His eyes are wet and his vision blurry, moaning in terror at whatever it is he has seen in the mirror. There is no way this could be real. Josh digs a little deeper into his skull, fingernails cutting at his scalp, willing himself to wake up from whatever nightmare he has fallen into.

Sam is pulling him apart. Incredibly warm hands finding his wrists, calling him by name. When he draws himself up, letting his hands leave his skull, he finds Sam's eyes red and wet. Has she been crying? She gives him a smile, regardless, and he realizes she’s telling him to breathe. _Breathe, Josh. Deep breaths. Breathe._ He's trying, but he's sobbing, his inhales stuttering and short. He does his best to take in deep breaths, but it's difficult as all the sirens and thoughts rage underneath his skull. The more he thinks of breathing, the more he thinks of the yellow teeth in his mouth and his exposed cheek. The torn flesh seems to throb in pain the more he thinks about it. He's tempted to scratch or pick at it. His cheek continues to ache.

“Josh, stop it,” Sam is shouting out, finding her prying his fingers out of his cheek. He _has_ been picking at it and the lack of realization makes him whimper in distress. Sam is pulling his wrist away from his face, his nails wet with his own blood. Josh resists her, tries to pull his hand out of her grip. He needs to touch his cheek to see how bad the damage is. He needs to touch it _now._ Sam won’t let him, her tone of voice shifting into a forceful demand, “Josh, stop it. You can’t pick at it.” Sam must know it’s a risky move to continue to fight him, because her hand is wet with sweat and her breathing is becoming laborious, too. She's nervous. Josh doesn’t know why she isn’t letting go, his panic swelling into irritation. He bares his teeth at her in warning, but she won't let him pick at his cheek.

Josh gives a strangled sound in frustration and he finds another way to get Sam to let go. He sinks his teeth into one of her shoulders and, finally, his hand is free.


	3. Cujo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's not sure she can do this on her own or do this at all...

Sam bites down on her tongue through the shock and pain; the two of them, now, have blood swimming in their mouths.

Initially, Josh’s teeth have failed to sink into her flesh with ease as one would imagine. It takes the force behind his jaw clamping down further onto her right shoulder for his teeth to effectively break flesh. Blood hits their nostrils and Josh’s teeth sink further, a strangled sound muffled against her shoulder. It’s a small blessing that his teeth are closer to her AC joint than the juncture of her neck. It doesn’t stop her thoughts, however, from tipping over and falling into the rabbit hole of _what ifs_. It shows her blood spurting from her neck and choking on it, her chest twisting tight with fear. It shows her a cold, dragged out death. Sam knows she should act now. She needs to fight back, but her body seizes, paralyzed by shock and the morbid thoughts that flash red in her skull.

Ruthlessly do yellowed teeth dig and dig themselves through muscles and tendons, hitting a roadblock made out of bone, violently yanking her out of her stupor. Immediately, Sam drops Josh’s wrists, her body alive and mobile once more. Her body impulsively tries to pull away, but his teeth only catch at her flesh. His bite grows lethal by the minute at the resistance Sam is giving, snarling in disapproval, daring his teeth to find a way to break bone. He’s going to break her shoulder if she continues and her crying only serves to agitate him.

Josh’s arms, finally, attempt to encircle her waist, pulling her flush against him. The scent of dirt, rot, and blood is nauseating, Josh makes the possibility of escape slim.

“Josh, let go!” Sam finds her voice, eyes foggy with tears. Sam’s trying her best to keep her voice level, hoping she can squeeze a semblance of authority out of her shaky voice. Sam guesses it’s adrenaline that is giving her the ability to even utter out words, shakily reminding herself to breathe. With each labored breath, her ribs are met with the pressure from Josh’s arms. Sam tries kicking at him, legs thrashing, but his arms only tighten around her.

Josh remains oblivious to her pleas, fixated on her shoulder. 

She decides to risk the safety of her own fingers when Josh continues to ignore her, attempting to pry Josh’s jaw open with her available hand. It’s a failed attempt, Josh retaliating by shaking his head like a dog would to a toy, Sam screaming when the gesture widens the wound. Sam’s available hand moves down to the arms around her torso, attempting to shove them off. “Josh, you…have to let go. I’m not going to hurt — ” she tries again, but he shakes his head, her voice cracking off into a sob. Already a thick rim of black hovers around the edges of her vision, the premonition of unconsciousness. Her tears fail to give aid in the situation, creating a foggy film over her eyes.

Through the blur of her vision, she takes Josh in, trying to assess what else she can do to free herself. His eyes are looking elsewhere, staring at something past her shoulder. His right eye, the one held open by dried pus and blood, is the closest to her. Gritting her teeth, twisting he body to gain a better position, she punches Josh in the eye. Immediately, Josh pulls his mouth away from her and releases her, howling in pain. Sam releases a strangled sound in pain when his teeth are jerked out of her shoulder, her jacket tearing.

“Sam, what the hell!?” he’s crying out and it’s Josh. There is the Josh she knows who is stumbling towards the tub, cradling his abused eye. Josh whines at the pain, bumping into the sink. Sam takes small comfort in the sound of his voice, but she’s forcing herself to race to the first aid kit sitting on the edge of the tub. Grabbing it with her right hand, she sprints out of the bathroom. Each step reminds her of the pain surging and overwhelming her senses, her shoulder jostled with each step. She was praying adrenaline would help her think less of it, but instead it roars for attention. Sam chants under her breath for her to ignore it, her mind racing ahead of her. 

The blonde makes her way downstairs, trying to remember where she left her backpack. _Is it in the kitchen?_

“Sam?!” Josh’s voice catches her ear, panicked. 

Sam pauses in her search, heart pounding in her throat. She debates going back to him, but the sensation of something dripping down her arm settles the debate for her. It doesn’t make her feel any less guilty. 

Sam’s backpack isn’t in the kitchen and she can hear footsteps — no, that’s just her own footsteps. Sam hisses at herself to get a grip and focus. Her backpack has to be by the front door. _Focus. Focus. Focus._ Sam makes her way there, her legs refusing to go faster than a jog with the pain in her shoulder fully realized. She’s bleeding too much and she’s leaving a trail, a red dribble of her wound leaving her stained fingers. Sam’s too nervous to take a good look at her shoulder, purposely avoiding it.

“Sam, I’m sorry!” Josh pleads out loudly, his voice closer. 

Sam puts down the first aid kit to slip her backpack over her good shoulder, grabbing the kit with her other hand. She clenches her jaw to suppress the groan in pain at the weight dragging down her injured shoulder. She just needs a good hand available. Forcing herself to breathe, she quickly weighs out her current options. She could go outside, but she risks the weather, wildlife, and the possibility there may be other wendigos about. Furthermore, Sam can’t have Josh wandering outside in the state he’s in. The basement seems like the only sound option and she forces herself to quietly head over.

Her body wants to run, to make a mad dash to the door, but her thoughts circulate back to her time in the lodge weeks back. Moving abruptly only earned unwanted attention and the fact that it’s Josh she’s trying to elude makes sweat cling onto her forehead. Sam nearly drops the first aid kit, swearing softly under her breath. “Focus, Sam,” she whispers, almost pleadingly. 

“Sam?”

Josh’s voice startles her, head whipping towards the sound, but Josh is nowhere. It takes her a moment to realize his voice sounded farther away. He must still be on the top floor and with a sigh of relief, she urges herself to walk faster to the door, risking the noisy sound of her footsteps. Sam can feel her chin tremble in relief when she can see her destination. She's so close.

“Sammy,” a voice heaves out and she freezes. 

Josh is standing a few paces to her right, his chin and teeth smeared red. His right eye is swollen and inflamed, but he looks just as terrified as she is. 

Sam wants to know how he got downstairs so fast. _How…?_ Sam glances towards the stairs, confused. She thought Josh was upstairs still. _Shit. Shit!_ The weapon she does have is in her backpack, kicking herself for not thinking to pull it out. Maybe she should move the first aid kit to her good hand, but how will she open the door quick enough? Sam swallows thickly and cautiously takes a step closer to the basement door. Josh’s eyes follow her, but his shoulders drop, body leaning forward as if ready to charge. It’s enough to make Sam nervous and she bolts for the door. It’s now or never. 

Sam manages to get her hand on the doorknob and twist it, swinging the door open. Josh is at her heels and she spins herself around to meet Josh. She swings the first aid kit at him and it rams against the underside of his chin. Just her luck, the first aid kit pops open, items spilling out onto the floor. 

Josh gives out a loud shriek, retreating back a few steps to cradle his abused chin. From the quick glance thrown in Josh’s direction, he’s mystified by the blood spilling from his good lip thanks to Sam’s attack. His teeth must have accidentally cut through soft flesh, the older male tonguing the wound with interest while his fingers still rub at his sore chin.

Sam takes the opportunity to grab what she can of what has clattered onto the ground next to her, ending up kicking the fallen supplies into the doorway, before closing the basement door behind her, locking it. Josh must have noticed she ran off because an ugly cocktail of a shriek and a wail nearly splits Sam’s eardrums open. It dies down to a frustrated snarl, the blonde sliding down against the basement door. Sam’s not even sure if she’s relieved, yet, uncertain if a door will protect them both.

The thought causes the right side of her chest to ache and she rubs at it with her good hand. Her movement reminds her of her shoulder and she immediately turns to it, trying to see the extent of the damage in the dark. It’s no use. There has to be a light switch somewhere — 

“Sam!” Josh’s voice penetrates through the door, panicked. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” he rushes out and he’s closer to the door, now. Sam can feel the door shake a bit when a weight presses against it from the other side. Sam slides her backpack off of her good shoulder and unzips it, fumbling through the bag to find Chris’ — well, Josh’s — makeshift flamethrower consisting of aerosol deodorant and a lighter. She has a few of them tucked into the bag. The irony that this is Josh’s obnoxious invention coaxes something foul to sit in the back of her mouth.

“Sam, come on,” he’s pleading with her, his voice a heavy, wet shake of a sound. It shakes her out of her thoughts.

Sam squints in the dark for the light switch. Spotting it, she carefully pushes herself up and nudges at the switch with the back of her hand. Sam settles back down, her head thudding against the door, stirring Josh to call out for her, again. She can’t just leave Josh like this and she can feel herself becoming lightheaded, a headache beginning to pulsate near her left temple. 

“Josh,” she finally calls back and Josh is trying the door, doorknob twisting. “Josh, I’m not coming out. Not until things settle down a bit,” she tells him and she’s surprised her voice remains unwavering and calm. She’s hoping that her words will calm him down and it gives her a little extra fuel to hold her ground. “Everything is…everything is okay,” Sam assures, glancing at her damaged shoulder. Her jacket is in shreds and what was once blue has been stained a dark, earthy hue. She needs to stop the bleeding, warily setting the lighter and aerosol can down, fumbling for the first aid kit. “We just…need a little break, okay? Everything is okay,” she adds on when Josh becomes too quiet.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Josh continues, voice wobbly and cracked. “Just, please, come out. I swear I won’t do it again,” he pleads, but Sam keeps quiet. She doesn’t know what else to say. She focuses on peeling herself out of her coat, hissing when her coat catches on the ruined flesh of her shoulder. Maybe Josh can smell the blood because he’s trying the doorknob again, an irritated sound leaving him. “Come on, Sam,” he shouts out, the door shaking against Sam’s back. “I know you’re bleeding. I…I can help — ” there is an loud exhale of air, a hand slapping against the door, his voice rising in a frightened shout, “ — _**I SAID I WAS SORRY! LET ME IN!”**_ This time something heavier collides with the door, knocking roughly into her back. The door is violently shaking, an irritated sound bubbling out of Josh’s throat. Sam gathers up the items around her and moves deeper into the basement. She can’t risk the door breaking open and — 

She’s running from Josh. She’s actually running from Josh. The mournful thought nearly makes her lose her footing on the stairs, barely regaining her balance. Sam glances about in the basement, trying to figure out what’s the next step. There is the manhole, but she doesn’t have the stomach to go through the underground tunnels and is nervous as to what may still be lurking about. Sam poorly knows her way about in the basement and possible exits. It doesn’t help that Josh is continuing to shake and run into the door, the wood beginning to groan at the abuse.

Sam chooses to tuck herself into a corner, refocusing on bandaging her shoulder. She won’t get anywhere if she loses too much blood. 

Eventually the banging at the door ceases to be and she knows Josh hasn’t left. She can hear him sobbing, words lost by his cries and the space that stands between them. Sam bandages her wound in silence, no longer sure if she’s able to handle this on her own.

*****

Sam wakes up aching everywhere, hungry and freezing. She ended up falling asleep next to the water heater, wedging herself into the corner. Her shoulder throbs for attention when she tries to push herself up and her knees pop loudly. The aerosol can of deodorant and the lighter clatter onto the ground noisly, Sam cursing under her breath and groping for the two items. She strains her ears, trying to catch the sound of something moving — for Josh. The thought only serves to dampen her spirits even further.

Juggling with the items, now, in her hands, she shoves the first aid kit into her backpack before slinging it on. She’ll look at her wound when she’s in the bathroom, not sure what to make of the damage due to her inability to clean it. The basement door remains intact and that’s a relief, quietly making her way up the stairs. Sam has contemplated leaving last night. Last night was overwhelming and it made her realize how unprepared she truly is. How is she supposed to keep herself safe or help keep Josh calm when there is a supernatural force sitting inside of him? Sam’s just not sure how one person can handle this, let alone make a difference.

Now, the thought embarrasses her. One person can make a difference. She just needs to be a little bit more prepared next time around and err on the side of caution.

“Come on, Sam. You can do this,” she mutters under her breath as she unlocks the basement door, peeking her head outside. 

Josh is nowhere to be seen, but the front door is open.   Sam closes her eyes and swears softly under her breath. If Josh is out there, she’s not sure if she can follow him with her new injury. Sam moves to the door and closes it. She’ll think of what to do with Josh after she cleans herself off.

The light from the bathroom and the mirror reveals that her shoulder looks reminiscent to ground beef. Flesh has been shredded and cleaning the dried blood caked onto her wound has her in near tears. She bites her already swollen tongue and pushes through the pain, hissing when she dumps a healthy amount of saline onto the wound. She’s unsure if she needs stitching and she hasn’t attempted to move her arm much in fear of agitating her shoulder. The best she can do is cover the bite up and hope the damage isn’t too serious. 

Sam spends a few minutes cleaning up the bathroom before slipping into a clean shirt she has stuffed in her backpack. Her jacket is ruined as is her blood-stained top. She’s not sure how to dispose of it. Maybe she’ll start a fire and burn them. Sticking her head out of the bathroom, quickly giving her surroundings a once over, she makes her way slowly to the kitchen. Her blood still stains the floor, a trail of dried blood recapping her path. Sam focuses on shoving her ruined clothes in a trash bag. She’ll get rid of that later.

Sam holds no illusions that Josh is gone, perhaps elsewhere on the mountain, but she won’t hold off on the chance he might just come back. She seeks out the linen closet, pillaging it for sheets and blankets. She throws a sheet over the main bathroom mirror and sets about the house turning over the mirrors she can. If Josh ever does return, she’s hoping that covering up the mirrors will help Josh feel a bit more comfortable.

It’s when she reaches the twins’ room does he find a dark mass huddled into the corner of the room. Sam scrambles for the aerosol can and lighter, pushing the light switch on. There is Josh, his head slowly lifting up to look at her. A haunted expression greets her, eyes red and swollen. Sam doesn’t miss the dark stains on the front of his outfit and the dried blood smeared over his good cheek. She wonders if that is from her or something else, her thoughts going to the open door.

“Hey,” he breathes out shakily, still in the clothes she found him in and shivering against the wall. Sam stays put, unresponsive.

“I…I’m not going to hurt you, Sammy,” Josh assures, looking embarrassed. His eyes are looking elsewhere, picking at the denim pulled tight over his bent knees. “I…uh…may have taken a chunk out of a few Disney forest friends to…you know…” he trails off and it takes Sam a moment to process the meaning behind his words. Sam gives a nod and sticks the lighter in her front pocket. She keeps the can in her hands, however, moving a bit closer to assess any new damage on Josh. His right eye no longer looks agitated, but she can see the high rise of puffed skin about it.. It’s going to turn black and blue by the end of the day and as for Josh’s mouth, she can’t tell what the damage is. Too much blood is smeared and crusted on his skin. 

Sam’s just happy that he isn’t lost out on the mountain.

They awkwardly keep put before Josh flinches at the silence, slowly standing up to sit on Beth’s bed. “I’m not really good at this whole saying the right thing at the right time deal,” he heaves out, beginning to toy with his nails. Sam allows herself to move a little closer and opts for leaning against the wall on her good shoulder. 

“I know. It’s okay, Josh,” she returns and Josh gives a snort in humor. 

Josh is staring at his shoes, but his fidgeting with his fingers take pause. “You know,” he adds, quietly, “it’s okay for you to tap out. No one would think less of you. I wouldn’t.” 

She hasn’t found enough hours in the day to reflect upon Josh’s prank and his words that he slung out at all of them after the big reveal. They all have tapped out on Josh after the twins’ disappearances. As much as she may _feel_ like they connected over the past year, maybe she, too, tapped out on Josh. She could have done more and coming to terms with that realization makes her a bit winded. 

Licking her lips, she moves closer to Josh, her heart pounding loudly in her ears. It’s irresponsible and stupid, but she takes each step closer with confidence. Sitting next to Josh on the bed, she lets one of her hands settle on his knee, squeezing it. “Hate to burst your bubble, but I’m not going anywhere,” she declares and promises, squeezing at his knee, once more.

Josh stares at her incredulously. His mouth moves as if to protest, but Sam doesn’t give him the chance.

“You, also, smell like hell,” she adds with a smirk.   Josh laughs, the sound rough and foreign. To Sam, however, it sounds promising.

“Is that why you’re waving around that can of Axe? I thought you hated that stuff,” he returns. They both know the reason behind it, but they’re both trying to make light of a devastating situation.

“You obviously haven’t smelled yourself.” 

Josh rolls his eyes, his eyes staring at the hand still sitting on one of his knees. He gives a nod in acceptance, “Really boosting my self-esteem here, Sam. I’ll take a bath, but it’ll cost you.”

*****

It costs her information. It costs her the truth.

They’re back where they started last night and Sam is trusting Josh. There is a high chance there will be another incident similar to the one last night, but treating him like a wild animal isn’t going to get them anywhere. She vaguely remembers something in the stranger’s journal dictating that wendigos are only active at night. Regardless, if they are going to make this work, they have to find ways to work together. Sam makes sure she’s prepared if the worse comes to pass and even slipped a knife in the waistband of her jeans.

  Josh wants to keep on talking about her shoulder and if she needs medical attention. No matter how much she assures him he’s fine, he looks unconvinced and troubled. He still can’t believe he bit her, the thought gnawing doubt onto his features. Sam distracts him by instructing him what parts of his face to clean up, the both of them deciding that Sam should keep her distance during this portion. Josh gnashes his teeth when he gets to his ruined eye, but the blood and pus are finally cleaned off. Sam notes that his eyelashes are gone, but he’s able to blink with both eyes, now. Eagerly does Josh let Sam clip his nails, relieved when they’re finally manageable.   

“Alright, go take off your clothes and get in the bath. Brought you some new clothes from your room,” Sam takes the dirty cloths used to clean Josh’s face, tossing them in the trash.   Josh sputters for a moment before he’s regaining his composure, attempting to shoot her a lewd grin, “ _Oh?_ Sam, believe it or not, I am a man that likes to be wined and dined first. Don’t be afraid to woo me first. I’m a very sensitive, romantic soul.” He puts too much embellish on _'romantic'_ and there is color capturing his throat. 

Sam rolls her eyes at the comment, a smile pulling at her lips. She knows Josh is cracking jokes for his own benefit, but she appreciates his false bravado. “Do you want me to leave? I’ll be just outside,” she inquires, but Josh is shaking his head a bit too quickly. He doesn't want her to leave. Sam turns her back to Josh to give him privacy, listening to the sound of clothes rustling and shoes thudding on the ground.   Sam only turns when Josh gives the all-clear, “You can turn back around, pervert.” She thinks of shooting back a quip that it takes one to know one, but, perhaps, it’s too soon to make light of the prank. That is another discussion they need to have and Sam isn’t looking forward to it. 

Sam moves to push his dirty clothes in a pile, taking a seat on the ground. Josh yawns, eyeing her for a moment before grabbing the bar of soap, fiddling with it. She can see an ugly mark sitting beneath one of his shoulders. It looks as if it healed improperly, the skin molted and a strange purple. This must have been where Ashley stabbed him with the scissors. Sam politely adverts her gaze elsewhere when Josh catches her staring, busying herself by counting the tiles on the floor. 

  “The possibility of physical and mental collapse is, now, very real,” Josh remarks solemnly, carefully rubbing at his arm with the bar of soap, “buy the ticket, take the ride.” ***** Sam can only blink at him in question, Josh returning it with an exasperated sound. “ _Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas_ , Sammy.” Sam shrugs her shoulders, still unsure. “It has Johnny Depp in it. You _like_ Johnny Depp.”

“Well, yeah, in _Pirates._ ” 

Josh rewards her with a scandalized look, raising a hand for her to cease and desist. “What?! In _Pirates of_ — you’re killing me, smalls!” ***** he groans in dismay, dropping the soap in the tub, sighing as he tries to find it through the murky water. “Alright, alright, question number five because I can't bear to hear this anymore. Why are you here? I thought there’d be a crew of people or, you know…” he trails off, his brows pinched together as he gropes for the soap.  

They won’t talk more about the wendigos. Josh asked and he stopped her midway through, shaking his head. He doesn’t want to hear more on how wendigos come to be and Sam can only guess as to why. So they dance around the subject, knowing that they’re bound to run right back into it soon.

Sam carefully pulls her shoulders back, wincing, in an attempt to pop her back. She should have grabbed a chair to sit on. “There was a crew of people here. A lot, actually. I wasn’t around when they assessed the damage of the lodge and went through the place. I helped with the search, but they wouldn’t let me back in the mines,” she reflects, her fingers toying with the lighter. “I guess that because they didn’t find any new information or leads within the two weeks, they pulled their resources back. I, then, convinced your mom — more like begged and cried — to give me a copy of the key to the cable car. Told her I’d keep a light on for you. I’m pretty sure she thought I’d be down here with the others for half a day, not a week.”

Josh found the bar of soap, working his jaw in thought, his yellowed teeth nearly hitting the other. “Why aren’t the others here? You said it was complicated?” he asks nonchalantly, but there is a hitch in his voice.

“Yeah,” Sam sighs out, trying her best to word the rest of her sentence carefully, “Jess is still in the hospital, but she’s being released later on this week.” Josh turns at her, eyes wide and Sam is quick to shake her head. “The wendigos really did a number on her, but she’s kicking ass,” she clarifies and Josh sighs in relief, “Uh…the others flew back home to be with family and are recovering. They’re too nervous to go down here without law enforcement actively about, but Matt and Chris helped me drop off some cases of snacks and what have you last Monday.”

That stirs a semblance of a smile on his lips, but it disappears as quickly as it appeared. He places the bar of soap to the side before grabbing the shampoo.

“You shouldn’t be here, Sam. Or you need to have some sort of plan,” Josh points out, suddenly. Sam keeps quiet, already knowing her shoulder is going to be introduced, once more, into the conversation. “Newsflash, I almost took a chunk out of your shoulder,” he reminds and Sam’s forehead scrunches in response. “What’s your plan? What's the Plan B?” 

Sam doesn’t have a plan. She doesn't even have a Plan B and hates the idea that pops into her skull on what it should be. To be honest, she wasn’t even sure she’d find Josh. This is what Mike warned her about, but she didn’t have the patience to hear out his circular thinking and lectures. 

“Sam, even for you, this is pretty reckless,” he comments and Sam can feel irritation bubble in her throat. She’s not sure if Josh is trying to be the voice of reason or is attempting to push her away.

“Well… I’m not going to just leave you down here, Josh,” she bites back a bit too harshly. Josh doesn’t respond, turning his attention back to the shampoo in his hair. “Everything is going to be okay. We’ll manage this together and…figure this out,” she adds defiantly when Josh lets the silence drag on.

Josh gives out a bitter laugh, shaking his head in dismay. “Well, I’m pretty fucked up, Sam. I was fucked up before and now I’m beyond fucked up. I think we’re past the stage of _‘managing,’_ ” he snaps back and it’s temping to just lash out. Sam forces herself to take a breath and pushes herself onto her feet. Josh is looking at her as if he’s expecting her to bolt out of the room.

“I don’t think you are,” she issues out calmly and Josh graces her with a disappointed look.

“‘Yeah, well, you know, that’s just, like, your opinion, man,’” ***** he mocks darkly and Sam sighs, rolling up her sleeves. There is no point arguing and she, suddenly, sees an opportunity to shift the mood in the room.

“Lean back, Mr. Lebowski, so I can rinse your hair.”

 Josh blinks in surprise, lips unwillingly curving upward. Sam moves to the edge of the tub, Josh closing his eyes when Sam swipes her thumb across his forehead, wiping away the shampoo suds. Just like that the tension in his shoulders are easing up, allowing himself to lean back into the water. A shaky sound leaves the sigh passing through his torn lips.

“The Dude abides,” he grins back, sighing as Sam helps rinse his hair. “I forgot we watched that movie together,” Josh admits and Sam gives him a smile that goes unseen. She doesn’t comment on how easily his hair is falling off his scalp in clumps. Her fingers slow down and she takes a gentler approach, Josh humming in approval. 

“Mmm, I liked it,” Sam finally answers, pulling away when she’s done. “Well, since we are going to be spending quite the bit of time together, we can always watch a few more together,” she suggests as Josh sits up, giving a nod in agreement, catching sight of color overtaking his ears.

“I’d like that,” Josh gives her a lazy grin, but it’s spoiled by the macabre twist of his mouth, now. It’s a not-so-subtle reminder that come the later hours of the day or whenever Josh becomes hungrier, she’s at risk.

Josh does have a point. Sam doesn’t have a plan and she can’t hide in the basement every night. She might have to toy with the idea of Plan B if she can't figure this out before nightfall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Move Quotes Quoted In Chapter:**  
> 
> "The possibility of physical and mental collapse is, now, very real... Buy the ticket, take the ride. - **Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1998)**
> 
> "You're killing me, smalls." - **Sandlot (1993)**
> 
> “Yeah, well, you know, that’s just, like, your opinion, man.” - **The Big Lebowski (1998)**


	4. The Town That Dreaded Sundown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh, finally, learns about the wendigo curse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **My Tumblr URL:** carvedwhalebones.tumblr.com

His hunger spoils the mood. 

By the time his hair has been rinsed, that gnawing ache in his gut has become insufferable. While Sam’s wound may be bandaged, he remembers that intoxicating taste. He remembers the laborious chew of the decomposing body in the mines compared to how his teeth sank into Sam’s shoulder with relative ease. Josh can still hear the rapid tattoo of her heart, more of a war drum than a sign of distress to his ears: _Feed. Feed. Feed. Feed. Feed._

  His stomach twists into knots at the memory, digging his fingers into his knees in self-restraint. It’d be so easy to turn his mouth towards and, metaphorically and literally, bite the hand that feeds. Josh forces himself to abandon the thought, moving to the opposite end of the tub to create distance. His, now, blunt fingernails are manufacturing crescent moon imprints into his skin as he turns his back towards her, snapping at her to go away:  

“Sam, just…just leave.” 

He feels more dog than human, purposely turning his head away from her concerned gaze. He can’t have her seeing him like this. He can’t stop salivating. He thinks again and again of her frantic pulse against the pad of his tongue and, even now, he swears he can hear her heart fluttering. A muscle in his jaw twitches and he digs his fingers deeper into his knees, demanding pain to be a distraction.   

Drool hits the lukewarm waters and he can hear Sam stirring. He hopes she’s actually leaving, saliva dripping down his chin. There is no real, fully-formed bottom lip to catch his saliva and he’s forced to tilt his head upward to keep it from spilling out any further. Shame and the ugly fear that he won’t be able to stop himself from attacking Sam, again, heats up his cheeks.

_Just leave — please._

Sam leaves, the click of the door signaling her departure.   

His shoulders sag and a strangled noise leaves his mouth, hands shaking in the water. He feels wrong, suddenly aware of how his skin fits over his frame, how his teeth jut unevenly out of his gums, and how terrifyingly hungry he is. His thoughts continue to flicker over towards Sam, shoved between these flashes of acknowledgment over his own body. In a panic, his chest beginning to seize, he looks for something. Seeks whatever he can for reprieve — pills? No, he left his pills at home. They’re miles away and Dr. Hill…  

 _I can’t lie to you about your chances, but you have my sympathies,_ ***** a familiar voice tuts at him. 

  His stomach aches and he twists in the water, eyes on the door. He can already feel his hands reaching out to the edge of the tub, ready to leave the lukewarm water and seek out Sam — god, he has to. What else is there to eat!? She’s the only — 

  Josh hisses and forces himself to turn his head away. _No, no, no, no._ He can’t go after Sam, not now and not again. Blindly and erratically, Josh finds a substitute. His teeth find his left forearm and sinks in deep. Blood flows into his mouth and he’s momentarily at ease. He takes a deep breath through his nostrils and burrows deeper, groaning against his arm. For a blissful moment, his thoughts cease to be and he falls deeper into that red haze. It’s a short-lived moment of bliss. The pain ringing in his body shakes him out of his trance and destroys what little comfort there is to be had, pleasure rotting into pain.

Josh’s eyes widen with realization, pulling away from his arm in surprise, holding the limb out as if it has offended him. “W-what the fuck!?” he’s hissing out at himself, mortified as he stares at his, now, bleeding arm. He glances at the bathroom door, wide-eyed and terrified someone else has witnessed the scene. No one is around and it hardly makes him feel better.  

Josh is still hungry and the top of his throat is beginning to constrict, making it difficult to swallow. He doesn’t understand. Nothing is making sense and he’s caught in a whirlwind of disgust and disturbance over his own actions. Josh shakes his head and digs the heel of his palms into his eyes, as if attempting to will away what he has done. “No, no, no, no, no,” he whispers out, his shoulders shaking with grief. This isn’t right. This can’t be right. Why would he do this? “What the fuck is wrong with you?” he hisses out in a panicked fury.

  Josh stays put, his angry whispers towards himself fading into silent sobs. He only moves his hands off of his eyes when they begin to throb in pain, Josh’s vision momentarily muted and wrong. His right eye is far too tender and he touches it gingerly. He forgot Sam punched him there and — “ _Fuck._ What the fuck is going on?” he complains, a wet inhale of air filling the air. He bit Sam — nearly tore her apart. Even attempted to chase her down and now this? Josh wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand, dunking his left forearm into the bathwater. 

He’s grateful Sam hasn’t checked up on him. He’s not sure he can bear to have her seeing him like this. He still doesn’t know why she’s even here. It’s far too risky and is he really worth it?

Pulling himself out of the bathtub, he dries himself none too gently. His hunger is still present, but the fear of Sam noticing the result on his arm splits his hunger in two. He doesn’t want to explain himself and he’s not sure he can even come up with an explanation. He’s sure this “wendigo” nonsense has a part to play, but he’s too gun-shy to learn it…to accept it. It still feels far too fictional to be taken seriously. Josh isn’t sure he can afford to table the matter and he dreads the conversation he’s going to have to have with Sam.   

Josh’s fortunate the bleeding has become sluggish and he spies the clean clothes folded not too far away. 

  Josh runs water on his arm underneath the sink, trying to judge how deep his teeth have sunk into his arm. It looks deep, but not wide enough to require stitching. Josh turns up to observe his face when he, finally, notices that the mirror has been covered by a sheet. The gesture gives him pause, his surprise melting into gratitude.

  Sam is still watching out for him, even with her out of the room. 

“Overachiever,” he croaks out into the bathroom. 

*****

Josh finds Sam in the kitchen when he finally emerges from the bathroom. He can’t stop glancing at his covered arm, afraid Sam might see through the fabric of his shirt. It only serves to create tension in the room, Josh anxiously taking a seat at the kitchen island, hiding his forearm underneath the surface. He thinks it’s the fear of getting caught and the embarrassment of his actions that transforms his hunger into nausea. 

Sam is busy rummaging through the fridge with one hand, her other limb static and hanging by her side. Josh wonders how bad Sam’s shoulder is, but he’s too ashamed to ask. He idly wonders if he’s going to experience that divide with Sam: his innermost thoughts kept to himself and forcing himself to act normal in front of others to keep up appearances. The idea of him having to keep himself mute on certain subjects with Sam feels isolating. 

“Not to sound like a brat, but I’m not really in the mood for rabbit food,” he poorly jokes, his fingers digging into his clothed knees. “Maybe just the rabbit would do,” Josh adds and he silently groans at himself. If the joke makes Sam uncomfortable, she doesn’t show it. Instead she pulls out the same package of sliced meat with one hand, nudging the fridge door closed with her hip. 

“Har har, so funny,” she retorts dryly, placing the packaged meat down to look for a plate. “I actually was thinking of making you some quinoa with a side of tofu,” she teases and Josh makes a face in disgust. He watches Sam put the majority of the meat on a plate before popping it into the microwave. The smell of heated up meat piques his hunger and he’s reminded all over of Sam’s shoulder, again.

“How are you not flipping your shit?” Josh finds himself blurting out, the question surprising Sam. Sam slowly rolls her bad shoulder as her brows pinch in thought. 

“Well,” she begins carefully before pulling the plate of lunch meats out, walking over to slide it towards Josh. Josh tries to keep his hands from lunging out towards it, but he can’t help himself. He immediately scarfs down the warmed food, surprised and grateful that his body is responding positively to it. “I mean, I am pretty freaked out, but we’re both not going to get anywhere if I start screaming and crying,” she honestly confesses. 

Josh pauses in his chewing, one of his knees beginning to bounce. He takes a deep breath, confessing in turn, “I’m…so fucking scared, Sam.” He can’t meet her gaze and his eyes feel wet, turning his head to wipe his eyes with his upper arm. “This is,” Josh takes another breath, coming out shaky this time, “pretty fucked up.” It, surprisingly, feels good to say it and it feels better to know someone else feels the same way.   

“I know,” Sam finally replies, voice quiet. “It’s not going to get any easier either,” Sam adds and Josh feels his appetite begin to wane, “but I’m not going anywhere. Whatever happens, we’ll face this together.” 

Josh gives a weak smile and nods in agreement. He’s not sure he shares her optimism. Josh pushes the plate of warmed up meat aside and Sam takes it, putting the leftovers away. “So…I guess we have to tackle the elephant in the room, than,” he begins and he, honestly, does not want to know. “So what the hell is going on with me?” he asks, sounding a bit too calm to his own ears, Josh issuing out a bewildering snort. 

“Well, I think you’re becoming a wendigo,” Sam answers plainly, pausing in her actions and staring at Josh apprehensively. 

He thinks they’re both waiting for some sort of reaction. Maybe he’s supposed to be screaming or lashing out. Instead, he feels disassociation grip him with fantasy and reality clashing together. He’s not sure how to react to the news, never quite putting weight into Sam’s previous comments about wendigos. Josh is struggling, waiting for that punch in the gut, but it doesn’t arrive.   It doesn’t make sense how something incredibly outlandish can exist, but how do you explain the things that grabbed him? Or the way his body is falling apart? 

“So I’m a _Supernatural_ episode of the week,” Josh comments and he doesn’t even realize the words have slipped out of his mouth until Sam is sputtering in confusion. “What a relief. Here I thought I was becoming Edward Cullen,” he adds darkly, but he feels the oncomings of sick rising up his throat. Before he can say more, he turns his head and throws up on the kitchen floor. 

*****

Josh has apologized a grand total of twenty-three times — he has been counting — as Sam cleaned up his sick. Sam waves it off, only asking he try to brush his teeth or gargle with mouthwash. It’s a request he’s happy to follow through with, grateful to get the taste of sick and a foul sort of meat taste out of his mouth. Brushing his teeth is an experience, but the covered mirror takes away the surreality of the actions. 

Josh is grateful when his tooth brush finds molars. 

He likes that Sam doesn’t ask how he’s feeling. He’s not sure he has an answer. He’s just waiting for that emotional kick — the way his gut dropped when he saw his face for the first time or finding his mouth latched on his arm. Josh isn’t sure if he’s disappointed or grateful that it has yet to come. Maybe it _did_ come and what he experienced before was it? Or maybe he’s just too emotionally exhausted, opting for a more empty, cynical reaction. Josh doesn’t know. 

“I hate to do this to you, but it’s getting later in the day. We need to figure something out so we’re both safe tonight,” Sam issues out when he makes his way downstairs. Is that how it works? At nighttime he becomes more animalistic? No, that doesn’t make sense, he wanted to attack Sam earlier on today because he was hungry. 

  “Uh…” he returns, glancing about the empty living room. He’s not really sure what to suggest. The basement is probably the safer option, but there are other ways for him to pull himself out of the basement. It’s not like his parents built a panic room of the sort. “I don’t really know, Sam,” he admits. 

Sam nods and is moving to her pink backpack, rummaging through it to pull out a worn out book. Josh just eyes it, watching Sam move towards the dining room to set it down. She’s babying her shoulder, unwilling to use her other hand. Josh follows after her guilty. Did he really hurt her? What if he broke her shoulder?! Josh only swallows thickly and rocks on his feet idly, still unwilling to ask her about it. 

“Okay, so… I think I mentioned it before, but there was some stranger that lived on your parents’ property,” Sam begins and Josh nods. It was years and years back, his parents issued out a restraining order on him sometime near the early 2000s. He never knew exactly what the man said to his parents, but he, now, has a general idea as to what it may have been. “So he was the one who — let me back up. He has been living in the sanitarium on the mountain. One of his family members used to live on the mountain and was hunting down these wendigos. His notes say that the curse must have always been on this mountain. However, it got worse after some mining incident that trapped these miners who, I’m guessing, resorted to cannibalism to survive…” 

_It's really something else, Josh. I admire it’s purity. A survivor. Unclouded by conscience, remorse, or delusions of mortality. ***** _

Josh tunes her out, making a face at the blur of the red armchair in his peripherals. It shouldn’t be there. He really should tell Sam that he stopped taking his meds. That everything is blatantly fucking wrong upstairs and he’s catching sight of _things._ He's never experienced this before.

Josh moves a hand to pinch his nose, trying to refocus his thoughts. He knows very little about wendigos and the myth other than what he has seen from movies and television. Hearing that cannibalism is the root of his issue incites stress. He was just starving and he had nothing else. Is that really his fault?

“He was the one who tried to save Beth and Hannah, Josh.” 

Josh shakes his head, returning back to the conversation, “Wait, what?” 

“The stranger. The guy who came and helped us weeks back. He was there last year hunting,” Sam squints at the page she’s looking out, sounding out her next word carefully, “Makkapitew who is theorized to be the original wendigo on the mountain. I guess it was chasing Hannah and Beth. The stranger killed it and when he tried to save the girls, they…fell.” She’s quiet and is staring at him. Josh remembers, briefly, Sam trying to talk to him in the mines when she found him the first time. She said something about Hannah and the tattoo… God, he's starting to feel sick again...

Josh takes a deep breath and releases it slowly. His chest is beginning to tighten, once more, and he’s eagerly trying to intercept it. “Did…” he begins, but cuts himself off with a shake of the head. Wrong question. “Are they both dead?” he asks, hating the way his voice cracks near the end. 

Sam nods, giving him a sad smile.“They’re both at peace, Josh,” she returns and Josh nods. Good. Good. That’s all he needs to know, sighing in relief. That’s good news. Sam politely turns her head away as Josh wipes at his eyes.

“So…” Josh clears his throat, trying again, “so the stranger killed Mark Zuckerberg.”   Sam chuckles, turning her head down to the journal, her eyes crinkling. It makes Josh give a semblance of a grin at the sound. It feels so good to hear Sam laugh.

“Makkapitew,” she corrects and Josh shrugs his shoulders.

“I was close. Sounds like something Mark Zuckerberg would do,” he defends. “So if the stranger killed the big baddie, why are there still wendigos. I thought in stories if you kill the root of your problem, the curse goes away,” Josh inquires. 

“I guess if you kill them, it releases their spirits, but the spirits will seek out a new host somewhere in the mountain. The way the stranger has been trying to keep the population at bay is by chaining them up in the old sanatorium,” she explains, but that makes Josh nervous. He’s not so sure about being moved to a building he’s never seen and chained up with other wendigos. It feels damning. It feels permanent. “But,” Sam assures him hastily, seeing his nervousness, “you’re different. You’re still you. I really think that this can be reversed.” 

Josh isn’t sure if she’s saying it to be nice, but the idea of no longer looking like this has him hopeful. Good. “I…I have my molars,” he blurts out, feeling himself grow excited, “in my mouth, I have my molars. That’s good, right?”

  Sam is nodding in agreement, flashing him a smile, “That’s really good! Right now we just need to figure out a way to get through the night safely. I have my climbing gear and rope with me, but I was hoping for a better solution.”

Josh is nodding, feeling at ease with the news that this can be reversed and being given an objective. It's something to keep him busy and working. “Ah, was not aware that you were reading all of this information from _50 Shades of Wendigo,_ ” Josh teases, surprised when Sam’s cheeks pick up color. She huffs and closes the journal, shooting him a look. Josh grins. “We could try the shed outside. Might have some spare parts and crap we could use,” Josh suggests with what he hopes is a lewd look, he can't tell with his face aching, “or you can tie me up to the bed, Sammy. I’m _flexible._ ”

“Unbelievable, Josh,” Sam groans, rolling her eyes at him and motioning for him to follow. “Let’s just quickly take a peek before it starts to get dark. We don’t have a lot of time left.” 

Josh is too thrilled to even acknowledge her warning and misinterprets the aches in his belly as excitement. He couldn’t be more wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Movie Quotes Used In The Chapter:**  
>     
>  _“I can’t lie to you about your chances, but…you have my sympathies.”_ \- **Alien (1979)**
> 
>  _"I admire it's purity. A survivor. Unclouded by conscience, remorse, or delusions of morality."_ \- **Alien (1979)**


	5. Under The Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh and Sam test out their method of keeping the two of them safe for the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Tumblr URL:** carvedwhalebones.tumblr.com

Police tape creates a barrier around the shed and it leaves Josh immobile at the sight. The gravity of his actions finally hits him, a nauseating pit taking shape in his stomach. He remembers Chris and Mike tying him up, the promise of the cops dealing with him, the claustrophobic reaction everyone’s surmounting frustration was creating, and the bite of winter when they left. Fear spikes in his gullet and he’s far too aware of the chunks of chewed up lunchmeat still lurking about. Josh makes a face as he swallows down the regurgitated mess in his throat, fortunate that Sam has yet to notice his discomfort. She’s busy tearing the police tape apart and fiddling with a ring of keys she’s pulling out of her pocket.

The eldest Washington closes his eyes and forces composure, trying to ride the waves of his peaking panic as best as he can. He can’t have a repeat of last night.

It’s not that he has forgotten of his prank, it’s just that he never factored in a police presence. It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way and with the wendigo myth added on — Josh pushes a hand through his hair and aggressively scratches at his scalp. His excitement over there being a possible solution begins to wane. If he does manage to get off of this mountain in decent shape, what happens afterwards? What happens to him? Where does he go? 

Josh clicks his teeth together and forces himself to move after Sam when she tugs the door open. The shed is worse inside, redecorated in police tape and littered with splintered wood and miscellaneous debris. The north-side of the shed is taped off and he notices that a few of his “creations” are missing. Josh grits his teeth, feeling sharp incisors catch the skin of his cheeks and upper lip.

_I’m so fucked. Christ, I’m on camera — why the fuck did I record everything?! The costume change, chasing Sam, all of it -- what are mom and dad going to say? Did they see my “fake death” and —_

Josh groans in dismay and jams the heel of his left hand into his forehead, willing it to sink through flesh and bone. He lets his terror overwhelm him, shaking his head, a soft sound pushing through the wall of teeth.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck._

“Josh? Josh, are you okay?” Sam is in front of him, swimming in one of his old jackets and tentatively touching his other hand. Her voice is warm and soothing, enough to pull him out of his litany of curses directed at himself.

Josh shakes his head and shies away from her hand, turning away from Sam in humiliation. He was _supposed_ to be composed in front of her. Josh, mournfully, realizes he has a terrible habit of letting himself crumple in front of her. He takes a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging when he finds himself staring at the police tape, once more. The pit in his stomach expands and gnaws; Josh presses his fingers into his gut to counteract the ache.

His thoughts pick apart every prank he pulled off that night and those that went horribly wrong. His mind returns and settles on what he did to Sam. It’s Sam running, panicking, and staring in horror at the clips being shown to her circulating through his head. He’s disappointed and in a state of disbelief over himself. With everything he has put her through, there is no reason why Sam should still be here. Josh does wants to ask. He wants to ask why she's here because nothing is adding up, no matter how much Sam may profess about refusing to leave him behind and so forth. His fear is, however, that if they talk in-depth about what he has done to her that night, that she may truly leave. He wouldn’t hold it against her, it’s just that he’s too selfish to let her go.

The older male rubs at his eyes and takes a breath, “Did…did the cops come because of me?”

“No,” Sam replies and Josh is tempted to turn at her and shoot her a quizzical expression, but he’s still too embarrassed to face her, yet. “Emily and Matt called for help on the fire tower,” she explains and from the sound of it, she’s pulling at a few things in the room. Maybe he should pretend he’s helping, shuffling a bit further into the shed and looking over what is left. “Help showed up, but were slowed down by the storm. They picked us up from a helicopter and brought us to the station, asked us what happened,” she recounts, Josh sneaking a look at her to see her popping a plastic bin open. 

Josh swallows thickly and eyes the nearest wall, rocking on his heels. Josh wants to know if they know about the prank — if his parents know.

“Um…” he begins, kicking at some of the debris, “do they know about…everything?” He hates how small he sounds and frowns accusingly at the wall, working his jaw.

“Yes and no,” Sam distantly replies, her thoughts elsewhere as the sun continues to travel downward. Josh is chomping at the bit for more information, however, turning and watching Sam try to pull another bin out with one hand. 

She is still babying her injured shoulder, Josh observes. Josh straightens his posture and moves to help her pull the bin out. He only makes an exasperated sound at her when she doesn’t continue the conversation, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. Is he sweating? Josh wipes his forehead, again, still unsure. 

“All parents and the authorities know about the pranks,” she clarifies and Josh closes his eyes, digging his fingernails into the soft flesh of his palms, “but we told them that we were all in on the pranks. Then some strange man came up, harassed us, talked about some wendigo and…we tried to tell the cops the truth about the wendigos, but they just chalked it up as stress. More or less, the blame went on the stranger.” 

Josh is stunned, a little bewildered by how calmly Sam is recounting the events. He’s shaking his head, feeling himself doubt Sam’s story and, simultaneously, recounting the body he sunk his teeth into in the mines. Josh pushes his fingers deeper into his stomach and it only complains, in turn, through spasms of pain. 

“You guys covered for me? Was it your idea?” he inquires and he wishes he sounded more grateful and less accusatory. 

Sam pauses in her work, shaking her head and shooting him a brief smile, “Nope, not my idea. It was actually Emily’s.” 

“Wh — uh… I’m sorry, for a second I thought I just heard you say: _‘The girl that never laughs at any of your amazing jokes and once gave you a third-degree burn by just glaring at you did you a solid.’_ Glad to know my hearing is going bad, too,” he retorts back and tries to shoot Sam an admonishing look, but his face can’t quite manage it.

Sam is nodding her head and gives him a reassuring look, reaching out and finding Josh’s cold fingers. This time, he doesn’t move away, feeling her warm hand squeeze his. He wishes he could muster the willpower to return the gesture, but he feels like he's being stretched too thin. 

“Emily did her best to talk to us before they brought us in for questioning. It was a lot of playing telephone during the ride to the station. All of us were in shock, but Emily was the only one who pulled herself together. She was the one who told us to say that we all knew that you were going to prank us and we were all encouraged to do the same. Not going to lie, there were some who didn't like the idea, but, at the end of the day, all of us were in on this. I think the only one who didn’t follow her plan was Jess, but she wasn’t in good shape to begin with.” Sam’s shoulders raise as she gives an encouraging nod, wincing when it agitates her injured shoulder, letting go of Josh’s hand to tentatively touch it.

The older male nods a few times, swallowing the lump in his throat. He wouldn’t have imagined the others helping him, let alone Emily. Josh feels a little overwhelmed, staring at his feet, no longer rocking in place. He didn’t think anyone cared and they all did him this huge favor, quelling and shrinking the nauseating pit in his stomach.

He wishes Sam was still holding his hand or be able to find the willpower to reach out for hers. The Washington opts for shoving his hands in his jacket’s pockets, tilting his head upward when his vision begins to swim, “Ah, hell, here we go. I _refuse_ to cry like a little bitch.” Sam laughs when Josh offers a watery smile, gently moving closer to him so she can let her knee bump into his. 

“You sure? I think I have some tissues in my pockets. They have cute flowers on them,” she gently teases and Josh chuckles, turning his head towards his jacket to wipe his eyes. 

“Don’t tease me, Sammy. You know I’m a sucker for those,” he turns his head back down to Sam and nudges her back with his knee, shaking his head with a grin. Josh stares at her for a while before turning back to the bin Sam was previously rummaging in. 

“Why would Emily help me out?” Josh wonders out loud. 

Sam just shakes her head, not sure herself. “You’ll just have to ask her once we’re off this mountain,” she replies and to Josh, it sounds like a promise.

Their conversation in the shed ended up wasting what little of daylight they had left, the two of them deciding to bring over one of the bins that looks somewhat promising. They’re going to have to use Sam’s climbing ropes and gears for tonight, Sam confident that this will work without a hitch. Josh believes her, dropping off the bin in the living room before making his way into the basement with Sam. 

“You are going to hate me for this, but I’m going to have to lock you in the basement bathroom,” Sam is explaining when they reach the bathroom. 

“It’s uh…pretty tiny,” Josh remarks as he flicks the the bathroom light on. It’s less bathroom and more half-bath, his parents never finding a reason to expand the space. He’s skeptical about being tied up in the bathroom, but there isn’t much he can do about it. Josh is just impressed he’s handling this moment rather well, being pulled into this cyclical game of second guessing his own emotions. Is it genuine? Is he just kidding himself? Should he be freaking out right now? Josh isn’t given much room to debate the matter because Sam is pushing her way into the bathroom, dropping off thick blankets and pillows. 

“Is anyone else getting the strange impression that I have been kidnapped and my kidnapper happens to courteous?” he asks the bathroom and Sam rolls her eyes at him, snorting in humor.

They decided that it’s best to tie Josh up while he’s sitting to ensure he’s relatively comfortable. The two of them argued over what to tie him to and how much slack to give, deciding to tie him around the base of the toilet, giving him enough length so he can rest against the opposite wall and stand up with ease when needed. They had to undo the knots to wrap his wrists in Mrs. Washington’s holiday, cloth napkins to make sure the rope doesn’t chafe his wrists. Josh watches her work effortlessly with just one hand before she’s standing up, eyeing her handiwork.

“I’m going to be back in a minute. Going to grab you some water and food,” she announces and Josh watches her go, feeling a little useless. He hasn’t, necessarily, been helpful.

“I’m going to be honest, this is weird, Sam. I’m being lassoed to a _toilet._ A toilet, Sam,” Josh complains when Sam comes back with a couple of waters under her arm and bagged sandwiches. 

“I know, I’m sorry, it’s just I’m worried that you’ll yank the shower head or the towel bar down,” she explains, shooting him a sympathetic look. She crouches down and puts down the items in her hands, her lips twitching into a smile at Josh’s exasperated expression, demanding she pay attention. She playfully returns the expression with her own and sits down next to him on the floor of blankets. The moment almost feels normal. 

Josh leans into her, bumping her with his elbow, his fingers gesturing to the toilet before them, “Not the first time I slept next to a toilet. Remember Emily’s party? Think it was…two years ago? I don’t think my liver has ever recovered.” 

Sam chuckles and shakes her head, “You know you took your clothes off when we found you, right?”

Josh groans in embarrassment, heat rising up towards his cheekbones, “You’re lying.” Sam just shakes her head, Josh’s groan growing louder, complaining openly. “What are you trying to do, Sammy? Embarrass the wendigo out of me?” Which, in hindsight, is a poor joke to make of his current affliction, but it cracks a smile out of Sam, even if it’s a bit strained. He nudges her with his elbow and she returns the gesture, looking rather pensive over Josh’s suggestion. 

“I just might try it. I think the twins have told me a handful of embarrassing stories about their big brother,” she taunts. A lump forms in his throat and he smiles to himself, turning his gaze away from Sam to stare at the assorted blankets strewn on the floor.

“I’m sorry about this, Josh,” Sam issues out quietly, after a moment of silence, “I’ll be honest with you, I didn’t plan this far when I came back here. Hopefully, tomorrow, we can figure out a better way to do this, but until then it’s going to be like this. We just need to keep on working together and we’ll get through this.” 

Josh nods, clearing his throat and mumbling out an ‘ _okay._ ’ Sam leans into him, letting her head rest on his shoulder, “Beth once told me that when you were ten, your dad took you out to watch him golf and you — ”

“Nope! Okay, time to go,” Josh interrupts immediately, Sam laughing when she’s gently being pushed away from Josh. It takes a few minutes to get Sam out of the bathroom, plugging his ears with his fingers and obnoxiously chanting out _‘I can’t hear you’_ as Sam attempts to recount the story. Then there is the sound of the door closing and silence.

*****

It doesn’t happen suddenly, it settles in his system in small increments here and there, quietly encouraging him to fixate on a singular thought: he threw up his most recent meal. It doesn’t necessarily mute his thoughts or radically change him like he expected. To be honest, he was waiting for the lights to flicker and to undergo a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde transformation. Or a _Carrie_ moment where he simply stumbles upon his “gifts” and accidentally breaks objects in the room. Instead, he’s given this gnawing, toxic pit of a feeling that clogs his system.

It’s four hours in and his stomach is in unbearable pain. The sandwiches don’t help. It’s not enough and he has foolishly eaten them all. Josh has been digging his fingers into his gut to diffuse the unpleasant sensation rolling through, but it only serves to stir irritation. They moved too quickly into the basement. They didn’t think this through. He’s hungry and there is nothing for him to eat.

“These are godless times, Mrs. Snell,” ***** he quotes sardonically through a groan, hunching over and letting his forehead rest on his bent knees. He just…he needs to distract himself. The more he thinks about how much they have forgotten to do and how his last real meal was what he grabbed in the woods earlier today (he’s not counting the sandwiches as anything other than useless), the more is he reminded of his discomfort.

Josh shakes his head, fingers moving to scratch at his cheek, wincing when nails catch at tender flesh. He needs a distraction. Josh pulls away from his knees to crawl over to the sink, opening the cabinet doors underneath. He finds toiletries, cartons of toothpaste — that’ll have to do. He grabs it and brings it up to eye level, reading the ingredients on the box. Josh mouths the words out, forcing himself to focus intently on it. 

Dr. Hill wouldn’t approve of this method. You’re supposed to address what’s bothering you, but Josh isn’t even sure where to begin. He’s not even sure if focusing on his problems is going to help overcome his supernatural issue. 

“This is bullshit,” he huffs out angrily, throwing the toothpaste at the door, his bindings tugging at his wrist. Why the hell didn’t they just focus on properly feeding him before he went downstairs instead of rummaging in the shed? Why couldn’t anyone remember to leave him more food? God, he would fucking kill for a burger. 

As selfish as it is to play the blame game, Josh can’t help himself, his thoughts turn to Sam. Sam should have known better. How is he supposed to know what to do? He didn’t get some creepy, old journal with details of his affliction. Sam did. Why didn’t she think this out more? Sure, she can argue all she want that it’s because she was looking for him, but she must have played with the idea that he might be fucked up. 

Josh grumbles in dissatisfaction, feeling worse for wear. Blaming someone was supposed to make him feel better, but, now, he feels embarrassed, guilty, and ravenous. He just needs to hold it out for the rest of the night and then he can eat.

Josh's stomach aches in response, the Washington seeking out his injured cheek to pick at it while the other hand jabs his fingers into his gut. It provides a brief moment of reprieve, Josh closing his eyes and demanding himself to calm down. There is just… There is no way he can do this. How the hell is he supposed to just ignore that he’s hungry? 

Josh’s fingers are wet and blood is slipping into the cavern of his maw with his picking and pulling at his skin, a pink tongue eagerly drinking it in. He tries to suck on his wet fingers, but his teeth only serve to make it difficult. For a moment, he panics. The fact he can’t suck the blood off of his fingers has his heart racing and his eyes fly open, staring in horror at this impossible task. He can’t make sense of it, blinking in horror before his mind catches up to his emotions, ushering out a solution: _lick your fingers._ Josh licks his fingers, briefly sated.

The Washington struggles to understand what’s occurring, finding himself wedged between rational thought and blinding need. He is hungry and there is food outside of the room. He’s so fucking hungry. A pitiful wail leaves him in frustration and complaint over his situation. He can’t be here. He needs to eat. 

Josh’s body jerks against the bindings, yanking and trying to scramble to his feet at the same time. He snarls at the resistance, feet sliding against the blankets underneath him. Sam’s bindings hold and he’s kept in place, his wail rising into a inhuman shriek. 

_What if I undid the knots?_ It’s a thought that doesn’t cut through the drone of his hunger. _What if I undid the knots?_ He forces the thought to the forefront of his mind, struggling to cut through the chaotic chants and cries of his hunger — is he crying? Josh gropes at his own face. It’s wet, but he’s unsure if it’s blood or tears. _What if I undid the knots? What if I undid the knots? What if I undid the knots?_

It catches. He’s heard. There is the slow chug of blinding need taking into consideration Josh’s suggestion. Josh squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, shaking his head, before taking a seat. He’s working on the first binding on his right wrist, fumbling with the knot before employing his teeth as aid. Within a few minutes it’s undone and he’s working on the other, a strange sort of balance between himself and the curse being reached.

Josh is leaving the bathroom with great haste once he's free, staring into the dark bowels of the lodge. He feels caught in a haze as he stumbles his way through, hissing when he bumps into a few boxes on his way towards the basement door. His eyes are having issues adjusting to the dark, one eye able to adjust to the lighting while the other remains blurred. Josh, angrily, rubs at his eyes. 

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. That this is where the story deviates from the script. That maybe it was not expected for someone suffering from the curse to rationally find a way to escape their bindings, but he can’t bear the idea of returning back to the bathroom without something to eat. He needs something real to eat. Something solid, breathing, and warm.

The Washington hits his next obstacle with the basement door. Sam, wisely, locked it. Josh slaps his hands against its surface, an agitated sound leaving him, nearly rising to a screech. He tries shaking the doorknob before he’s retreating from it, fingers scratching at his scalp. Door. The door is locked. The only way to open it is through a key. He needs a key. He’s so hungry. Josh scrunches up his face and forces himself to think through the persistent, screaming need of eating.

_Come on, Josh. Think. Think. Think. Think. Think. Think —_

There should be a spare key behind the dollhouse that he left in case of an emergency or if one of the others locked the door on him during the prank. Josh perks up and fumbles his way through the dark towards the dollhouse. The key is where he left it.

It takes him a while to unlock the door, his hand unwilling to stay still. He bolts out when the door swings open before aimlessly walking about, not sure where to go next. A part of him tells him to try the kitchen, but another reminds him that there is something better about. Something solid, breathing, and warm.

That’s when he hears _her_. 

It’s faint, but distinguishable — _memorable._ He can hear the steady sound of blood pulsating through a body, Josh turning to the sound. He remembers the way his teeth sank into her shoulder and the instant gratification it provided. He remembers.

Josh walks through the first floor, determining the sound is coming upstairs after peering into a few empty rooms. He moves himself upstairs, pausing, occasionally, to listen to this intoxicating promise.

He feels worse than he started, but purpose is allowing him to ignore part of the pain. There are daggers under his skin — like he’s too big for his own body and is about to tear from the seams. His hand digs into his stomach as it gurgles in complaint, Josh’s movements becoming a bit hurried and sloppy. He's close. He knows he is. He can hear her.

He finds Sam in his room, surprised his stumbling didn’t rouse her. She’s buried underneath his sheets, the Washington carefully moving closer to get a better view of her. The darkness isn’t doing him any favors, but when she moves, he sees her in color. Josh swears that he catches bright glimmers of blue in his vision, as if whatever of her is exposed became highlighted. Josh sucks in the air violently at the strange illumination, wide-eyed and waiting for her to move, again.

Sam doesn’t and he makes an impatient sound. He doesn’t even know why he’s waiting.

The Washington moves closer, his hand reaching out to pull back the comforter. He smells dried blood, his sights zooming in on a place he can only assume is her wounded shoulder. Already he can feel himself salivating, his mouth parting in preparation, his own heart quickening in excitement. All he can comprehend is that _this_ is something living and breathing that he can eat. He watches her throat, his fingers twitching at his sides.

_“Josh?”_

Josh freezes. He's been caught. Blinking a few times, Josh realizes that saliva has fallen on her face — that he was about to kill Sam. The horror over his intent has him scrambling, staring at Sam in distress. He watches her rise to action, a streak of illuminated blue that only his left eye appears to be projecting. Whatever balance he once held with the carnal voice raging in his gut is broken, stumbling and confused.

Sam is quick to act, reaching underneath the bed and pulling out a baseball bat. She holds it at the ready, standing tall in her pajamas, not even daring to wipe the saliva off of her face. “Josh,” she issues out clearly, “I need you to head back downstairs to the basement.” Josh doesn’t move, only issues out a soft whine that causes Sam to wince. Josh takes the opportunity to take a step forward, but she holds her ground, raising the bat higher.

“Josh, if you move one step closer, I will hit you. I need you to head downstairs to the basement.” Her voice is level and clear, enough to deter Josh from moving forward. He slinks back until he’s bumping into the wall, ashamed. 

“I’m hungry,” he explains meekly. 

Sam takes a deep breath and nods in understanding, “I know, but we need to go downstairs. I need you to move, now.” 

Josh can see her better from here. She looks terrified and exhausted, but her mouth forms a determined line and her posture remains strong. Josh thinks of sinking his teeth into his forearm to appease the hunger gnawing in his gut, but not in front of Sam. Fighting the greedy cries for food, he nods and leaves his room, making his way to the basement. 

Sam doesn’t say anything the whole way through and his body is burning a bright red. He should say something. Apologize. He didn’t mean to.

“Okay, get in the shower with your back facing me. I’m going to just tie your hands behind your back, okay?” Sam breaks the silence and Josh nods, climbing into the shower. “Everything is going to be okay. Just stay still. You just…scared the shit out of me, but we’re all safe and that’s what matters,” she assures and Josh nods numbly, listening to Sam undo the ropes around the toilet. Soon, it’s back on his wrists and he can't bear to look her in the eyes, sitting down on the shower floor. 

“I’m sorry, Sam,” he mumbles out, watching Sam take a seat on top of the toilet from his peripherals, the baseball bat balancing on her thighs.

Sam gives a nod, offering him a smile, “All is forgiven.” Josh shoots her a doubtful look before his eyes are falling on her shoulder. Something must have torn and Josh leans forward into his bent knees, burying his nose into the fabric of his jeans. He can feel saliva pool in his mouth, but he's too terrified and embarrassed to act upon it. 

Sam catches his gaze and glances at her shoulder, frowning. Josh guesses she must have agitated her shoulder when grabbing the bat or moving too quickly. It hardly makes him feel any better about the situation, his distress overwhelming his hunger.

“Is this bothering you?” she inquires and Josh shakes his head. It worries him, but he’s not sure he has the right to ask if she’s okay. 

Sam sighs and works her jaw, staring at a spot above Josh’s head. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while and I need to get this looked at,” she informs him and Josh’s blood runs cold, his body stiffening at the realization where this conversation may turn. “Just to make sure that everything is okay,” she adds and Josh, reluctantly, gives a nod. He takes great care not to look at her shoulder and keep his nose against the denim of his jeans.

“That means you have to leave,” Josh mumbles into his knees. There is that old, familiar fear creeping in from earlier today. He was supposed to remain composed — to make sure he doesn’t send Sam home, but he fucked it up. 

“I’m going to come back,” she interjects, her voice cutting through his panicked thoughts. “I’m going to come back,” Sam promise. 

He’s not sure how this would play out. Sam can’t tie him up and expect him not to escape, again. And even if she did successfully keep him restrained, will there be enough food and water to keep him physically okay until she comes back? What if she decides to take a chance and not restrain him? What will become of him?

Josh doesn’t see how this will play out well. He doesn’t see why Sam would ever return and he doesn’t blame her. He would leave, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ***Movie Quotes Used In The Chapter:**
> 
>  
> 
>  _"These are godless times, Mrs. Snell."_ \- **Carrie (1976)**

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


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